


Sex, Lies, and Videotape

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Category: EastEnders
Genre: Early Work, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-04-24
Updated: 1999-04-24
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:15:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matthew thinks about his own part in Saskia's death and his relationship with Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sex, Lies, and Videotape

**Author's Note:**

> **Original A/N:** Thanks to Margie for betaing, and to Emma for the title, the nudge to get writing on it, and the wonderful job of Brit-betaing. Any mistakes you find are entirely my own and should not reflect upon my beta readers.
> 
> Also, I'm American, so I apologise if I've slipped up and left any Americanisms in.
> 
>  **AO3 A/N:** This is an example of my very early fanfic. For historical purposes I'm leaving it as it was originally posted, including the summary. Even if a lot of it makes me cringe now.

He'd tried drinking himself into oblivion, but that didn't help, and he couldn't even find peace in sleep. Every time his eyes closed, he was assaulted by images, memories...

_...hands, white where she gripped the tie, using every bit of her strength to pull the narrow silk band tight..._

_...contorted features, eyes wide and mouth gaping soundlessly, fingers clawing at the makeshift garrotte..._

_...a wild animal in his arms, all teeth and claws as he pulled her off, and an elbow to his ribs that forced the air from his lungs and made him lose his grip..._

_...Steve, red-faced and struggling against her renewed attack, struggling to breathe..._

_...fear and adrenaline and the pounding of his own heart loud in his ears..._

_...Saskia, lying still on the floor of the office, eyes glassy and unfocused, a pool of crimson spreading out from where her head lay on the carpet..._

Matthew sat up, gasping for breath and staring, panicked, around the dark room. Another nightmare. His stomach lurched and he stumbled from his bed, the duvet clutched convulsively in one hand. He barely made it to the toilet before the spasms in his gut overtook him and he retched.

Shivering, face sheened with sweat, he huddled on the cold lino beside the toilet and tugged the duvet around himself. He couldn't get the images out of his head, no matter how much he drank.

 _He_ hadn't killed her, not literally, but the videotape was cold, hard evidence of the guilt that shadowed his innocence. Saskia's death was an accident – Steve had struck out at her in self-defence – but they were both guilty of covering up, guilty of hiding the body and disposing of her belongings.

Steve had been adamant that they not call the police and he'd found himself unable to argue, unable to say no when Steve had thrust the bin liner full of Saskia's possessions at him.

_...blue eyes, alternately angry and pleading..._

_...strong hands, stroking his face and neck, anchoring him against a tide of panic with their firm grip on his shoulder..._

_...warm breath, tickling across his cheek..._

_...gentle lips, whispering seductive promises into his ear..._

And so he'd taken the bin liner and helped Steve clean all traces of Saskia's presence from the office.

He'd never been able to say no to Steve, not since the day Steve bought _E20_ from Annie.

~ * ~ * ~

"You want a drink?" Steve asked, holding up the bottle of amber liquid.

"A pint...?"

Steve grinned. "Still negotiating, eh?" He nodded toward the bar. "Go on, then. Pull yourself one."

When Matthew returned, glass in hand, Steve was sitting in a relaxed sprawl in the centre of the sofa. Careful not to slosh his lager in the process, he sat to Steve's right and shifted a bit to get comfortable while still leaving space between them.

"So, Matt, what grand ideas you got for my club?"

Matthew looked up sharply, expecting to see mockery in Steve's expression, but instead found only warm humour in the blue eyes. He shrugged, suddenly uncertain, and stared hard into his pint. "Dunno, really. Something hot, something 'with it'. Good rave music..."

"Your rave seemed like a success." An encouraging lift of the eyebrows.

"Yeh, seemed like it all right," he said, not really willing to get into that discussion with Steve. He was already feeling a little guilty for cutting Huw and Lenny out of it.

"Heard you used pirate radio to get the word out," Steve said, leaning forward to set his empty glass on the coffee table.

"That was the plan, but we had a few...technical difficulties." He took a drink of his lager and grinned wryly. "Mostly Huw. A walking technical difficulty, he is."

"Thought he was your mate." A shifting of position and Steve's arm was across the back of the sofa.

"He was. 's why I'm in a position to know, innit?" Matthew shook his head. "Him and Lenny're pissed off at me, but they'll get over it."

He wasn't at all sure why he was telling Steve so much, being so honest with someone he didn't really know. Maybe it was the other man's momentary friendliness as he sprawled, relaxed, on the sofa with an open expression that seemed to invite confidences.

It suddenly occurred to Matthew that this was the first time they'd really sat down and talked, man to man. Man to _boy_ , he corrected himself, uncomfortably aware that in Steve's eyes he was the same as Jamie and the rest of the club's clientele. For some reason that knowledge disappointed him.

"Matthew?"

The soft voice brought him out of his reverie and he realised that he must've been lost in his pint for quite a while.

"Sorry, thinking," he said, raising his gaze to meet Steve's.

Before that moment, he'd always wondered what it was that attracted one bloke to another. He'd seen Simon and Tony walking together on the Square and couldn't help thinking that there really wasn't much about a bloke, _any_ bloke, to recommend him. As a matter of fact, he'd sometimes thought that women were fools to even bother with the male of the species.

That was before he found himself staring into intense blue eyes, his heart pounding in his chest. He dropped his eyes to his drink again, but knew he'd stared too long. His face was hot and he took a large gulp of lager to cover the flush he knew was spreading across his cheeks. A matching heat was tingling through his nerves and into his groin.

He tensed, waiting for a reaction, a blow that never came. It wasn't possible that Steve had missed what he had been thinking; it might as well have been written on his forehead in bold black ink. He was about to stand, to walk out the door and away from the club – probably away from the DJ job, as well – when Steve reached out and lifted the nearly empty pint from his hands, setting it carefully on the table. He took a breath and held it, feeling completely at sea.

"D'you understand the game you're playing at?" Steve's voice was soft and low, and slightly menacing.

Slowly Matthew let out the breath he'd been holding. What the bloody hell could he say? Part of him wanted to protest that he'd not been playing any games, that he had no idea what Steve was talking about, or perhaps even put it off as hero worship, but part wanted to explore the dangerous new ground Steve was offering.

Again, he'd been silent too long. Warm fingers caressed the side of his face, turned his chin until he was looking into the mesmerising blue eyes.

Very slowly and deliberately, giving him a hundred chances to move or speak or do _anything_ to stop the motion, Steve leaned toward him, gaze flicking back and forth between his eyes and mouth.

The kiss started out tender and chaste, Steve continuing to give him every opportunity to object, to call a halt to...whatever it was they were doing. Instead, he deepened the kiss, tasting the burn of whiskey on Steve's tongue, using every bit of skill and experience he possessed to impress the older man.

When they finally came up for air, breathing ragged and blood racing, he was the first to speak. "I've...I've never..." he started, trailing off in embarrassment.

The coffee table was shoved aside with one careless foot and then Steve was touching him. He wanted to open his mouth to protest again, to say that Steve didn't have to do this, but he found the words slipping away.

The left side of his tee-shirt was tugged from his jeans and warm fingers slipped beneath it, searching out the hard nub of his nipple to caress. A thumb trailed across his bottom lip, Steve's hand cupping his jaw for a moment before it slipped around the back of his neck and he was pulled into another kiss, this one as passionate and demanding as the last had been tentative.

There was no question, now, of Steve's intentions, and Matthew's cock seemed particularly aware of that fact; it was engorged and painful beneath tight layers of cotton and denim. He rubbed one hand against the restricted organ, seeking to relieve the aching pressure.

The hand behind his neck moved to join the one that was toying, more roughly now, with his nipples. Matthew arched up slightly, his moans muffled as Steve continued the assault on his mouth. Wrapped up in the sensory overload, he barely noticed when the overwhelming pressure on his cock eased. Then his shirt was being tugged upward, Steve urging his arms up above his head so it could be removed.

But as soon as the tee-shirt was over his head, the fabric was twisted around his wrists and held, effectively restraining him as he was pushed backwards until he was reclining on the sofa. For a half second he felt himself begin to panic, then Steve's mouth closed over his again and he was oddly reassured by the raw desire that he felt from the other man.

Desperate for release, his cock throbbing in time to his pulse, Matthew arched up, searching for a firm surface to rut against until he could come. No longer caring how it might sound, he whispered against Steve's lips, "Please... Oh, Christ, please Steve..."

A soft moan, and Steve's lips were hot against his neck and then trailing down his chest. He braced himself, but the shock of the warm, wet mouth engulfing his aching cock still drew an involuntary gasp from him. His eyes closed and he lost himself in the sensations

Steve's free hand pressed his hips into the sofa while the other one tightened its hold on his wrists, effectively preventing him from making any major movements. Not that he was capable of much more than pure reaction, every muscle tensed in anticipation of orgasm.

Sudden vibrations from a low moan sent arrows of tingling pleasure to his groin, and he opened his eyes, startled. It was the wrong thing to have done, because the sight of his cock disappearing into Steve's mouth was enough to make him come.

~ * ~ * ~

It had just been the beginning, that night in Steve's office. In the weeks that had followed, they'd spent nearly all their time together – publicly working to make _E20_ the hottest club around and generating their own heat in private.

He loved Steve and was loved in return. At least, that was what he'd thought; he wasn't certain of anything anymore.

He shivered again in the early morning chill and pulled the duvet tighter around himself. For the moment, he was going to crawl back into bed and try for another hour of sleep. Then maybe he'd go round to the Queen Vic for a pint or three.


End file.
